It’s official. I think I could take John Mayer in a fistfight.

Not that I am interested in fighting him, or vice versa, but if by some fantastic coincidence we found ourselves squaring-off with an axe to grind I think bookies would be wise to put the long odds on him.

For those of you who don’t know, John Mayer is a singer-songwriter born in Bridgeport, Connecticut on October 16, 1977. I was born on May 11, 1981 (the same day Bob Marley died).

This three-and-a-half year age disparity clearly gives me an advantage. Since it is unlikely that either me or Old Man Mayer possess knockout power, the bout would be likely to drag on, giving me and my youthful stamina the edge as the rounds piled up.

Mayer has won seven Grammy Awards for his throaty proclamations of love and soul in songs like “Your body is a Wonderland,” and “Daughters.” I have never even been nominated for a Grammy Award. If anything, I think this Grammy disparity also gives me the advantage. His recognition has given him a multitude of laurels on which to rest. I’m still hungry to make a name for myself, and let’s face it, taking John “Noodle-arm” Mayer to the mat would be a good place to start.

Other Grammy Award winners that I think I could beat in a fistfight include Paul McCartney, Prince, Michael Stipe, Stevie Wonder, Thom Yorke and Jimmy Fallon (Fallon won in the spoken word category for one of his comedy albums).

Don’t even get me started on the Juno Award winners I think I could tune.

Mayer’s biggest asset would likely come from his height. He stands a Goliath-like 6’3″ while I clock in at an average 5’10”.

Admittedly this gives him a significant advantage in terms of reach. He may think he could keep me on the perimeter, landing jabs with his big ol’ monkey arms while I am forced to stand just out of striking distance.

But what I lack in height I think I make up for in sturdiness. I come from a long line of stalky men from the Jickling side of the family. My strategy would be to make myself compact and bore in like Jake LaMotta in Raging Bull.

I’d likely have to absorb a couple of blows in the process but once I busted through Mayer’s outer defense the fight would be mine. While he flailed wildly, I could get to work hitting him in the kidneys.

And if all else fails I have a secret weapon — my patented and wildly unpredictable left-hook. Even I don’t know where that thing is going to land.

I have never met John Mayer and if I ever do I will likely smile politely and say something like, “Hey Man, I really liked Room for Squares.”

But in the primal part of my brain — the part that has never left the cave — I’d be smirking a little bit, and saying to myself, “I could totally take this dude.”